The dawn that filtered through the mist-shrouded forests of the Land of Fire was a grey, sombre affair. There was no golden sunrise, only a gradual lightening from black to charcoal, as if the sky itself was reluctant to reveal the day. Through this monochrome world, three figures moved like silent ghosts, their passage a series of soft thwips and displaced leaves.
They had left the strained silence of Kusagakure behind at the first sliver of light, resuming their relentless pace without ceremony. The weight of the previous night's negotiations—the signed scrolls, the broken pride of the Kusa council, the memory of the ambush—hung between them, an unspoken fourth traveller.
It was into this rhythmic quiet that Hiruzen spoke, "Tell me. In your estimation… was I too lenient back there?"
The question, so casually deployed, was a landmine. Renjiro's instincts snapped to attention. This wasn't the Hokage seeking reassurance or validation from his subordinates. This was a probe. A test of perspective, of moral and strategic calculus.
'He's not asking if he was right,' Renjiro realised.
'He's asking how we, the next generation, interpret power and consequence. He's taking our temperature.'
Kakashi answered first, his voice flat, cutting through the rush of wind. "No. They deserved it. Their inaction, their chaos… it provided Iwa a highway. That highway led to Konoha shinobi dying. Choices have costs." His tone was stripped of emotion, but the firmness was absolute. It was the judgment of a soldier who had seen those costs paid in blood and lost comrades.
Hiruzen said nothing for a long moment, the only sound the crunch of underbrush under their fleeting feet. Renjiro could almost see the connections forming in Kakashi's mind—the ghost of Obito, the memory of Hiro.
Then, Hiruzen's gaze, sharp and assessing even in profile, shifted to Renjiro. "And you? What is your reading of the situation?"
Renjiro's first impulse was to deflect, to hide behind agreement. "I concur with Kakashi."
"I did not ask for concurrence," Hiruzen replied, his voice still calm but now with an undercurrent of steel. "I asked for your reasoning. Your own assessment."
'So much for evasion,' Renjiro thought with an internal sigh. The Hokage was peeling back the layers, demanding the thought process, not just the conclusion. He organised his thoughts as they flew between the trees.
"Kusagakure's actions, and inaction, created tangible consequences that Konoha was forced to bear," Renjiro began, his words measured.
"They must be held accountable, or the precedent invites further betrayal from any minor power calculating the risks. However…" He let the word hang, choosing his next phrasing carefully.
"From their perspective, during the height of the war, their options were severely limited. Iwa was on their doorstep, an imminent, overwhelming force. Konoha was… elsewhere."
He glanced ahead, gauging Hiruzen's reaction, but the Hokage's back gave nothing away. He continued.
"We were stretched thin, fighting on multiple fronts. Even if a desperate plea for aid had reached us from Kusa, our strategic triage at the time would have likely placed them low on the priority list. Iwa entered the war late; they were not the primary, existential threat that Kumo or Suna represented at various points. Kusa's leadership, facing annihilation, made a calculation: surrender to the immediate threat and hope to survive, rather than hold faith in a distant ally who might not—or could not—come. It was the wrong choice. A dishonourable one. But it wasn't an irrational one."
Hiruzen slowed his pace almost imperceptibly, not breaking stride but creating a space for the words to resonate. He didn't look back, but his voice was thoughtful.
"You are suggesting a failure of central command, then. That Konoha failed to project the strength or assurance necessary to hold its buffer."
Renjiro felt a slight tension. That was a dangerous interpretation. "Not a failure of command, Hokage-sama. A reality of capacity. Strategic triage is not a flaw; it's a necessity in total war. The Central Command prioritised the survival of Konoha proper and its most critical alliances. Kusagakure… fell outside the perimeter of what could be immediately protected. I am not criticising the choice. I am explaining the logic from their side, which makes their subsequent betrayal more understandable, if not forgivable."
There was a brief, dense silence, broken only by the forest sounds. Then Hiruzen gave a single, slow nod, a teacher accepting a pupil's adequate, if uncomfortable, thesis.
"Understood. So, given that understanding… was the punishment too harsh? Did I extract too much blood for a sin of desperation?"
Now Renjiro felt the corner he was being nudged into. Hiruzen was pushing him to make a definitive moral judgment on the Hokage's own actions. He internally bristled but kept his voice level.
"No. The punishment was necessary and justified. Understanding their motive doesn't absolve the consequence. Leniency here would be read as weakness, not compassion. It would signal to every minor village on our borders that betraying Konoha is a low-risk, high-reward gamble. The cost must be prohibitive. The mines, the resources… they are not just reparations. They are a message. A deterrent carved into their economy for a generation."
He paused, then added the final, cold piece of logic. "It stabilises the region more effectively than burning their village to the ground would. It gives them a future, but one irrevocably tied to our goodwill. That is strategic. Not merely punitive."
Ahead, Hiruzen's shoulders relaxed a fraction. A faint, almost inaudible sound escaped him—not quite a chuckle, but an exhalation of acknowledgement.
"I must admit," he said, his tone shifting to something lighter, almost appreciative, "I did not expect such a… granular strategic analysis from you, Renjiro. Your reputation leans more towards decisive action."
Renjiro wasn't sure if that was praise or a veiled comment on his impulsivity.
"Situational awareness is part of decisive action, Hokage-sama."
"Indeed it is," Hiruzen mused. Then, with a casualness that was utterly disarming, he added, "You would make a good Hokage one day, thinking like that."
The words hit Renjiro with the force of a surprise jab. His rhythm faltered. For a single, jarring moment, his footfall landed slightly heavier, a crunch that was out of sync with their fluid travel.
Hiruzen immediately stopped, his body coiling into a subtle, ready stance. Kakashi halted a pace behind, his hand drifting toward his kunai pouch. "Report," Hiruzen said, his earlier casualness gone, replaced by the alertness of a veteran.
"What did you sense?"
Renjiro, slightly embarrassed, shook his head. "Nothing, Lord Third. No threat. I just… your comment surprised me."
Hiruzen's posture eased, but his eyes remained keenly interested. He resumed walking, at a slightly slower pace now. "Is the idea so shocking? Would it be such a bad thing?"
Renjiro let out a short, incredulous laugh, the sound foreign in the quiet woods. "It's not a matter of good or bad. It's a matter of likelihood approaching zero. I wasn't even born in Konoha. The Hokage is the heart of the village. That's… not a title for outsiders."
Even as he said it, the irony tingled—his Uzumaki name, the clan meeting, the constant scrutiny, all orbiting this very fact.
Hiruzen waved a dismissive hand. "Place of birth is trivia. The First Hokage founded this village with an outsider—an Uchiha—as his brother. What matters is where you plant your feet and what you protect. Your contributions, your loyalty, your strength… these are the currencies of belonging. You have spent them freely for Konoha. The ledger does not lie."
The Hokage's words were simple, but they carried the weight of history and authority. They settled around Renjiro, not as a comfort, but as a new and unsettling frame. He had no response.
As they moved on, Kakashi, silent throughout the exchange, watched Renjiro with a renewed, analytical focus from behind his mask. His single visible eye held a contemplative glint.
'Is that what this is?' Kakashi thought, his mind always sharp, connecting dots.
'A test, but not for a commander. A vetting?' He considered Renjiro—eighteen, powerful, politically ambiguous yet fiercely effective, capable of both brutal action and cold strategy. He was young, but youth was no longer the barrier it once was. The news from Kiri spoke of a Fourth Mizukage even younger, a figure rising from blood and chaos. The world was changing, and maybe Hiruzen was looking at a piece that didn't fit the old board, wondering if it belonged on a new one. It was not an unreasonable thought, Kakashi decided. Just a profoundly unexpected one.
[AN//: I realised a couple of chapters ago, I misaged Renjiro wrongly. He was around 14/15 before the war, and considering that the war took close to three years, he's now close to 18 years old. This is five years older than Kakashi and five years younger than Minato.]
The forest began to thin, giving way to rocky foothills and the sound of rushing water. They were approaching the Valley of the Tanigakure, the Village Hidden in the Valleys. It was supposed to be a stable, if minor, ally, known for its skilled hunters and intricate valley-topography.
But as they cleared the final ridge, the scene that spread below them brought all three to an abrupt halt.
The village was nestled in a deep gorge, as described. But the familiar, tiered structures clinging to the cliffs were damaged. Not from age or storm, but from violence.
Renjiro's sharp gaze swept the scene, taking in the strategic points of destruction, the absence of birds, and the utter stillness. The philosophical debate about power and punishment evaporated, replaced by the immediate, visceral reality of ruin.
"What the hell happened here?"
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